William Thomas Beckford (1760 – 1844)
English novelist, travel writer, art-collector and eccentric.
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[Vathek] has, in parts, been called, but to some judgments, never is, dull: it is certainly in parts, grotesque, extravagant and even nasty. But Beckford could plead sufficient "local colour" for it, and a contrast, again almost Shakespearean, between the flickering farce atrocities of the beginning and the sombre magnificence of the end. Beckford's claims, in fact, rest on the half-score or even half-dozen pages towards the end: but these pages are hard to parallel in the later literature of prose fiction.
I fear I shall never be…good for anything in this world, but composing airs, building towers, forming gardens, collecting old Japan, and writing a journey to China or the Moon.
El original es infiel a la traducción.
One of the vilest men of his time.
The great Apostle of Paederasty.
Eternal Power!
Grant me through obvious clouds one transient gleam
Of thy bright essence in my dying hour!
Je n'aime pas ? résister ? la tentation.
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